


Back and Forth

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Magic, Time Travel, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has an unfortunate tendency to accidentally time travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back and Forth

The first time it happens, Merlin is on his way to the stables. It's one of those _days_ ; he scuffed Arthur's boot and got yelled at for it, he spilled Gaius's water and got yelled at for it, and the court has guests in the form of one king, two princes, and seventeen servants, each of whom brought a horse. Merlin does not want to go to the stables. There are stable boys for the _express purpose_ of cleaning up after the horses, that is their _job_ , why he has to do it is beyond him. He’d really rather be in his room, or gathering herbs, or _anything else_. Anything that doesn’t involve excrement. There’s a lot in life that doesn’t involve excrement, and Merlin thinks about some of those things as he walks. Sunshine. Flowers. Lambs, and the like. Tuesday mornings, when Arthur gets up later than usual.

It takes him a few seconds to realise that the noises around him have changed. He’s still weaving in and out of people, but the air smells a bit different, and the sounds ... he lifts his head, stops thinking about all the things he’d rather be doing, and blinks around himself.

The buildings have changed. They look ... grey. Like they’re made out of a dull stone instead of wood. Large windows reflect sunlight, and behind them are what looks like displays of books, strange boxes and shapes, each window different. Large signs are written in a dialect Merlin doesn’t quite understand.

He must have ... come here somehow. The crowd jostle and shift him along the street, moving with it, so it takes him another minute before he notices that there’s a wide area in the middle of the street, where ... contraptions of some kind, like carriages but not made of wood, and not pulled by any sort of horse he can see, move very fast.

This, this is too much. Merlin closes his eyes, wants more than _anything_ to be home when he opens them, and ... then he does, and he’s walking along the street in Camelot just like always, on his way to the stables.

Nobody’s looking at him strangely, there are no furtive whispers or screams or anything that would indicate anybody having seen him disappear and reappear, so ... he must not have. Perhaps he just hallucinated, or had some sort of a vision; he doesn’t know, but he is very glad that it is over and that no one noticed.

~

The second time it happens, it is five days after Lancelot leaves. Merlin is back in the woods, collecting branches and flowers and various roots Gaius has told him to fetch. He’s in the clearing where they’d been attacked by the griffon, wondering what Lancelot is up to and where he is, and then ... he’s on the outskirts of a village, behind a barn.

There’s nobody around, but - but he’s just been thinking about Lancelot, and perhaps, Merlin reasons, he’s jumped again. Perhaps he did actually jump the first time. There are no stone buildings, no strange contraptions; just a farm, and a village at the other end of the field. He makes his way there, carefully stepping over the sheep shit.

It’s quiet, after Camelot. Merlin’s forgotten how quiet a village is, and this one, it’s just like Ealdor. He’s about to walk up to the nearest adult and ask where he is, when a door smacks him in the face.

“Merlin!” he hears, when he lands. A hand is offered, which he takes, and he's strongly pulled upright again. “What are you doing here?”

Merlin blinks. Lancelot’s hair is shorter, his tan deeper, but it’s definitely him. “Lancelot!” Merlin breaks into a grin. “How _are_ you?” He hugs him, tightly. Lancelot huffs some breath out by his ear.

“Well,” he answers, pulling away slightly to speak. “How, um. How is my lady?”

Merlin is confused. “Your ... your lady?”

“Guinevere. Are she and Arthur, I mean ...” He looks pained. “Have they —?”

“I ... have no idea what you’re talking about,” Merlin shakes his head. “I mean, they — she doesn’t even _like_ Arthur — and he, well, I don’t think he’s ever noticed her at all — are you all right?”

Lancelot has sat very heavily down on the nearest log. It took some staggering. “This is a dream,” he mutters. “Yes, it’s a dream. Next you’ll take me to Camelot, where I’ll ... very well.” He stands up. “I care not if this is real. Take me where you will, I will go.”

“Lancelot, whoa, sit down.” Merlin gently pushes him back towards the log. “Listen, um. When — when are we?”

Lancelot’s eyebrows go up. “ _When_ are we? Don’t you mean where?”

“Well. That too.” He glances around, but nobody’s really paying them much attention. They’re getting a few odd looks, but nothing else. He lowers his voice. “See, I don’t know quite how it happened,” he moves his hands in what he hopes conveys _with magic_ , “but I was just thinking about you and ... then I was here. And it’s happened before but I’m _pretty_ sure that was the future, so maybe this is too.”

“The future?” Lancelot rests his chin on a knuckle, hands bunched together. “You mean ... you are from the past?”

“I suppose so. You’ve been gone five days, and I was just wondering if you’d found somewhere to live, what you —”

“Five days?” Lancelot’s staring at him, eyes wide. “Merlin, we left Hengist’s castle three months ago.”

“Erm.” Merlin swallows. “Who’s Hengist?”

Lancelot’s eyes go even wider. “Do you mean to tell me ... in your time, I’ve only just left Camelot?”

“Yes.” Merlin bites his lip. “What were you saying about Gwen and Arthur?”

A cloud seems to pass over Lancelot’s face. “Ah. This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No.”

“I see.” He sighs, drops his head into his hands, and murmurs, “It was too much to hope, even from a dream.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Merlin looks up to see a man walking towards them.

“Friend of yours, Lancelot?” he asks, glancing at Merlin suspiciously.

“Yes.” Lancelot looks startled, but only for a second. “He is travelling, he stopped here for — well, I have not seen him in months, I have not had time to ask.”

The man turns to Merlin, who smiles at him and says, “Just passing through. Saw Lancelot here, thought we could catch up.”

“There’s no work here,” the man says, eyes still narrowed. He nods to Lancelot, and goes back to his companions.

“Come on. Let us talk indoors.” Lancelot indicates one of the cottages, and Merlin follows him in.

“What was all that about?” he asks. Lancelot indicates a chair, and he sits down in it.

“The villagers here are somewhat suspicious of strangers. There is little work and little food to go around, they cannot spare any.”

“What about you? Aren’t you a stranger?” There’s something different about him, Merlin thinks. He looks ... older.

“I work for the king. A small job, but a worthy one, keeping an eye on the outlying villages. I am also the first warning of attack.”

“Oh.” Merlin studies him for a second. “And how are you? Really, I mean.”

Lancelot drops his elbows onto the table, his hands into his palms, and rubs his face twice. “In truth, I have lost all hope of my heart’s happiness.”

Merlin doesn’t really know what to say to that. “Oh, I’m — I’m really sorry, I didn’t know.” Lancelot nods in acknowledgement. “Was she pretty? Or he.”

“It is my lady Guinevere,” he says. Merlin is still confused.

“You know, I think she liked you. If you could just —”

“It is not to be,” Lancelot says, in a voice filled with finality. “She has a higher destiny than — than me.”

“You know, people always talk about destiny, but _I_ think you’ve got to make your own way.” Merlin gives him an encouraging smile, but Lancelot shakes his head.

“I have no right to try and —” Lancelot sits back with a long exhalation. “She belongs with Arthur. Not with me.”

“Sometimes, Lancelot,” Merlin shakes his head, “you’re so noble it’s annoying.”

Lancelot smiles with one quarter of his mouth. “I shall take that as a compliment.” He looks like he's about to say something else, stops, and swallows. "When you go back — to your time. You _can_ get back, can't you?"

"Oh, yes. Well, I did last time."

"Good. When you get there, will you — will you tell Guinevere that — well, that —"

"I went to the future and you told me you love her?" Merlin shakes his head.

"You could say I wrote to you," Lancelot suggests.

"You _could_ write to me," Merlin says. "I mean, do you? Did you?"

Lancelot drops his eyes. "No. I have never had coin or cause enough to buy paper and ink. I ... am not proud of what my life has been. What it was, until I saw Guinevere again."

"What it —"

"It does not matter." Lancelot sighs. "I must be getting back to my post. Will you tell her?"

"I will." Merlin stands, pulls him into a hug. "It is very good to see you again."

"And you." Lancelot leaves the cottage, Merlin closes his eyes, and the sounds of the wood greets him before he opens them again.

~

And then, of course, Arthur happens.

"It's the _fifth time_ I've told you, Merlin," he thunders, pacing up and down. "Why don't you ever _listen_ to me, you awful, worst servant I ever — where do you think you're going?"

Merlin is half-turned, chewed boots (one of the dogs somehow got at them, which naturally is all Merlin's fault; and, okay, so the mud on them from last week _is_ his fault, but really, when you think about it, Arthur was the one who put it there so it's all _Arthur's_ fault) in one hand. "I'm just going to clean them," he says, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice. "That's what you wanted me to do, isn't it? Sire," he adds.

Arthur looks like he might explode.

"I'll repair them while I'm at it, shall I?" Merlin continues, and takes a step towards the door. He doesn't want to be here. He _doesn't_ want to be having this conversation, not after Arthur got drunk last night and tried to kiss him when Merlin put him to bed. Maybe that's what this is about, maybe Arthur remembers and is overcompensating, but Merlin _does not care_. He just wants to leave, to be somewhere else, so that Arthur isn't yelling at him over a pair of boots he can easily afford to replace, and he doesn't have to be incredibly confused as to how Arthur feels about him (the usual affectionate exasperation, he would have thought, but for that almost-kiss), and he doesn't have to worry about the stupid sodding bloody _boots_.

Arthur grabs his wrist as he turns, and that's where it all goes wrong.

It takes him a minute. It's suddenly dark, the noise like two hundred thousand Arthurs are yelling all at once, and oh _fuckity fuck fuck_ , he’s jumped again and this time Arthur’s come with him.

It takes Arthur two minutes to stop yelling and realise that they’re not in his rooms any more. They’re in a packed room with high ceilings and half-naked people all turned towards a small stage. On it, three men are standing, holding instruments. One of them is singing. There’s a machine of some kind behind them, with another man hitting it wildly. Most of the noise is the crowd of people yelling and screaming, and after another minute, Merlin realises that there is music coming from somewhere, incredibly loud, and a lot of the people are trying to sing along.

Arthur still has hold of his wrist, so Merlin tugs him by it. “We have to get out of here,” he yells in Arthur’s face; Arthur looks confused and increasingly murderous. He follows Merlin, though, as they battle their way through the crowd and out of the room.

It’s only as they emerge into a corridor that Merlin registers how hot it had been in the room. The air here is much cooler, the corridor largely deserted. “What,” Arthur seethes, “is going on?”

“Come on.” He still has an iron-like grip on Merlin’s wrist, so he’s easily tugged forward by it. “By the way,” Merlin throws over his shoulder, “that hurts.”

Arthur tightens his hold. Merlin sighs.

There are signs at the end of the corridor, big bright green signs reading ‘WAY OUT’ with an arrow. Merlin isn’t sure why a sign would be so incoherent, but pulls Arthur in the direction the arrows point in anyway, until they’ve pushed open another few doors and are outside in the open air. Arthur drops Merlin’s wrist.

The buildings look like his first jump. “Ah,” Merlin says, looking this way and that. Those self-propelling contraptions are lined up in the road, motionless. The middle of the road is black and looks very, very strange. “Um.” He turns to Arthur. “I can explain.”

“You’d better.” He doesn’t look quite like he’s about to explode, but it wouldn’t take much. Merlin swallows.

“I, er. I sort of — um. I don’t mean to do it, but sometimes —”

“I _knew_ this was your fault,” Arthur interrupts. He bares his teeth when he talks. Merlin takes a step back. “Take us back. _Now_.”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin fumbles for his hand, closes his eyes, and wishes hard to be back in Camelot.

It doesn’t quite work properly; when he opens his eyes, they’re home, but in his room instead of Arthur’s. Merlin turns to him. “Please don’t have me executed,” he says.

“Only if you explain.” Arthur looks even more murderous. He sits on Merlin’s bed. “I hope this is a very good explanation. For your sake.”

Merlin starts pacing slightly. “I don’t know how it happens,” he says. Arthur opens his mouth, but Merlin holds up a hand. “Sometimes, when I want to be somewhere else really ... really a lot, then, I am there. Um. In the future, for some reason. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, there’s nobody I can ask. And when I don’t have any particular place or person in mind, I just ... go somewhere weird. Well, you saw it.” He stops pacing, hands in his hair, and looks at Arthur. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know I was doing it, I didn’t know you’d come with me. I’m sorry.”

Arthur is studying him carefully. He doesn't look like he wants to kill him now, but neither does he look especially friendly. “You’re a sorcerer,” he says. Merlin feels sick.

“Yes. I didn’t learn it, I just — I was born like this. I don’t know how. Nobody does. I just ... was.”

Arthur stands up. “You have the rest of the day off. I expect to see you tomorrow, _bright and early_ , is that understood?”

“What are you going to do?” Merlin asks. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

“Think.” Arthur’s face is unreadable. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Merlin.”

“Yes,” Merlin says to the swinging door. “Tomorrow.”

~

The walk to Arthur's rooms the next day seems to take twelve times longer than normal. Merlin accidentally jumps to the strange future-place three times before taking a firm grip on his nerves and steeling himself for the ensuing conversation.

He opens Arthur's door, hoping that he'll still be asleep, but he's dressed and sitting at the table. "Have you brought me my breakfast, Merlin?" he asks, sounding irritated as usual.

"Yes, sire." Merlin doesn't look at him as he lays the breakfast out on the table and then stands to the side, hands behind his back, head down.

"Well don't just stand there, my armour needs polishing," Arthur snaps. Merlin nods and takes the excuse to work with his back to the table.

After a while wherein the only sounds are Merlin's polishing and Arthur eating, Merlin begins to think that Arthur forgot the day before, or it was just a really bad dream, or perhaps he's not going to do anything and pretend it never happened. Merlin is very willing to go along with any of these explanations, but when Arthur sets his goblet down one last time, he says, "I've been thinking."

Merlin goes completely still. "Sire?"

"Lancelot didn't defeat that griffon alone, did he? Gaius said it was a creature of magic, that only magic could kill it. I believed him mistaken, but if you're — if he had help —"

"Yes, sire," Merlin says, very quietly.

"I see." Arthur is quiet for another minute.

Merlin turns to face him. "What are you going to do?"

"Well obviously you'll need to be more careful, especially with this going to the future business. There's been something odd about you all along, Merlin." Arthur eyes him. "I trust nobody knows of this?"

"No one," Merlin shakes his head. "Well, except Gaius. He knew my mother." He's not sure why he feels this is adequate explanation, but lying to Arthur at this moment would probably not be wise. For once, Merlin listens to his instincts.

Arthur nods. "I see. Well, then." He gives a very familiar smile. "I assume you're better at cleaning when you don't have to do it by hand, though it wouldn't be difficult to improve on your usual dismal work. See that no one disturbs you. I'm off to court."

Merlin stares at him. "S-sire?"

Arthur walks very purposefully over to him, leans down, and moves their faces close enough together that Merlin can smell the sausages on his breath. "Put a foot out of place and I may reconsider. I'm only not telling my father because you've saved my life, and Camelot. Make sure that my trust in you is not misplaced."

"I'm not evil," is all Merlin can say when he opens his mouth. "I wouldn't do anything to harm you, or Uther, or Camelot. Not ever. I'm here to protect you."

Arthur leans away, an incredulously amused look on his face. " _Protect_ me? Good grief, you really are more inept than I thought."

Merlin glares. "Saved your life, haven't I? More times than you think." He holds his hand out, palm up. "Light in a cave, ring any bells?"

Arthur's eyes go wide. He turns and walks out, back straight, grabbing his sword on his way out. "Bring my armour to the training grounds in an hour," he calls over his shoulder.

"Yes," Merlin grits his teeth, "sire."

 

 

 

\-------------------------  
Pretty much the rest of this would've been the development of Merlin and Arthur's relationship, perhaps with Lancelot/Gwen endgame, too. Arthur may have ended up going to the future with Merlin again at some point, but he'd never like it; he's okay with Merlin's sorcery because he knows he can trust him, but it still makes him uneasy. So, there would have been dealing with that, too.


End file.
